NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Gerrick Ollivander came out of the back room to greet them. "New Hogwarts students?" he asked them.
"Just him," Dahlia sighed dramatically. "I have another year to go."
"I see," Ollivander nodded sympathetically to her. "Well, step right up, young man, and we'll try to find you a perfect match."
They went through a cycle of wands, most of which were snatched away by Ollivander before Harry could so much as wave it. A few caused minor magical fluctuations in the air – lightbulbs flickering, shelves rattling, boxes popping open.
Ollivander patiently handed Harry one after the other, the process taking just as long as Harry's first time around. He found himself eyeing the brown box sitting atop a high shelf, knowing it contained the holly and phoenix feather wand, wandering if it would again choose him…
"Tricky customer, very tricky," Ollivander mused. But he didn't appear frustrated; if anything, he looked as though he relished the challenge. "You've got highly temperamental magic, far more attuned than most...a refined palate that only the right wand can satisfy…"
Dahlia began to grow bored as she slouched in the corner watching Harry try more and more wands. Harry found himself growing weary of the process himself, and was on the verge of straight-up asking directly to try the holly wand. But then Ollivander opened a new box, peering down at the wand within, and chuckling a bit to himself.
"An unusual combination, but worth a try," he mused, handing Harry a new wand. "Mahogany, twelve and three-quarter inches, with a Kneazle's whisker core." Harry suddenly had a vivid image of Hermione's old cat Crookshanks in his head, and, bemused, he took the wand from Ollivander.
Immediately he knew it was the one. The wand glowed with warmth in his palm, sending three puffs of white flame into the air before settling back to a dormant state.
"Aha!" Ollivander proclaimed, clapping his hands together in triumph. "A match! I should have tried it earlier, but that core is so rare, so very rare indeed...haven't sold a Kneazle core in years…"
"Why is it so rare?" Harry asked.
"Kneazles have a reputation as tricksters and troublemakers," Ollivander said with a wry smile. "You're a Potter, are you not, boy? I recognize your father James in you – I knew he was trouble from the moment he stepped into my shop. I imagine you have a similar reckless streak within you."
"You can say that again," Dahlia scoffed from the corner.
"I try to avoid trouble whenever I can," Harry said uneasily.
"But I imagine trouble seems to find you anyway, am I wrong?" Ollivander winked. Harry could not dispute this observation.
"Paired with the mahogany wood, I think you'll enjoy plenty of speed and flexibility with that wand as well. A duelist's dream, if you choose to follow that path. But be warned! Kneazle cores are known to be finicky, and will demand your full attention to perform at its peak abilities. Are you up for the task, young man?"
"Yes, I think so," Harry said. As always, deep discussion of wandlore made him uncomfortable, as though Ollivander was somehow peering deep into his identity and gauging his inner self through his wand selection. Could he somehow tell that he had secrets and tricks of his own, having traveled back in time…?
"Then best of luck to you, Mr. Potter," Ollivander bowed to the two of them. "And I look forward to seeing you next year, Miss Potter!"
Harry paid for his wand and led the way back out into the Alley. They made their way towards Fortescue's, looking forward to some ice cream, but Lily was stood waiting for them outside the storefront, which was closed.
"They're shutting down the Alley early," she said grimly. "We should head home."
"Why? What's happened?" Harry asked, frowning.
"There was a break-in at Gringotts," Lily frowned. "Your father was called in to help figure out what happened."
"Is he gonna be okay?" Dahlia asked, frightened.
"I'm sure he will be," Harry reassured his sister. If things were indeed happening just as they had before, then Quirrell would be long gone from the bank before any Aurors could get in his way.
"No use fretting about it here," Lily said. "Let's hurry home so we can be there when your father returns."
They hustled back to the Leaky Cauldron and joined the queue of witches and wizards waiting to Floo away. They arrived back in Godric's Hollow safe and sound, where Lily insisted they all remain downstairs to keep her company while waiting for word from James. Harry instinctively knew he'd be fine – no way Death would screw with him by killing off his father less than a day into his new life – but acquiesced quietly.
Dahlia insisted on poring over Harry's new textbooks (which he didn't bother to leaf through, as he'd already learned all the material), as Bandit the owl zoomed happily overhead, finally free of his cage. Harry even let Dahlia wave his new wand around a little, but snatched it back when she accidentally set the curtains on fire, prompting a stern lecture from Lily after she extinguished the flames. Lily was incredibly on-edge, and outside distractions certainly didn't help, especially once she stepped in a pile of owl droppings and demanded Bandit be put outside.
Luckily, James returned before dusk, his wife engulfing him in a relieved kiss the second he stepped out of the fireplace. It was a tender, loving sight that filled Harry with warmth, despite Dahlia's gagging sounds beside him. "Strange situation," James muttered as he tiredly plopped down onto the couch.
"Someone managed to break into a high-security vault, but it had already been emptied earlier in the day, according to the goblins."
"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Lily reasoned.
"Thing is, they wouldn't tell us what was in the vault in the first place," James sighed. "I tried pulling rank and involving Fudge, but they just laughed in my face. I doubt the investigation will turn up much."
Harry badly wanted to jump in and share what he knew, as he could tell his father precisely what was in the vault and who was after it. But that would only draw suspicion about how he knew such information – and besides, he couldn't say for certain that things were playing out exactly as they had in his old life. After all, Neville was the Boy Who Lived in this universe, not him – who knew what other ripple effects that change could have on the world?
The rest of the evening was a muted affair, though Lily did bring out a cake for Harry, adorned with eleven sparkling candles that were charmed not to extinguish when he blew them out (causing James to giggle with mischievous glee). The family retired early that night, and Harry got in bed shortly after dark, feeling mentally and physically drained after such an up-and-down day of new revelations.
But he did not fall asleep straight away. He lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the new life he'd found himself in. He felt safer and more content than he ever had before, with a loving family by his side and the burden of Voldemort removed from his shoulders. He had a chance to re-do his Hogwarts years exactly how they always ought to have been, free to make his own decisions – his shared fate with Tom Riddle no longer pulling him towards destruction.
But something continued to nag at the back of his mind. A sense of duty; a feeling of unresolved purpose in his life. He had failed to fulfill his destiny in his past life, to defeat Voldemort with the tools at his disposal. He had put too much faith in other people, like Dumbledore, and they'd let him down. He should have been better prepared, more knowledgeable about what he was up against. If what Death told him was true, defeating Voldemort might not have been as simple as striking the man down.
Would Neville meet the same fate he had? Would Dumbledore fail to equip him with the knowledge he would need to win the coming war? Harry could help him avoid making the same mistakes he had. Sure, he had the freedom to walk away, to have nothing to do with Voldemort...but would his conscience allow him to? Knowing what he knew? Knowing what a formidable threat Tom Riddle truly was, unbeknownst to anybody but himself?
Harry thought again to what Ollivander said to him in the wand shop: "I imagine trouble seems to find youanyway." Could Harry really avoid meddling in affairs if he tried? Surely not. He knew too much about the Dark Lord, had done too much to prepare for his destiny, to simply walk away. He may not be the Boy Who Lived, but he still felt he owed the wizarding world something.
He had been gifted with a fresh start, and it would be a poor repayment to let the world fall to Voldemort in his selfish desire for normalcy.
He would have to prepare harder this time. Study more, hone his skills. Learn to rely on himself rather than others around him. He would have to delve into Tom Riddle's past to try and determine just how he had achieved his immortality, and how he could help break whatever links kept him tethered to the world of the living. And if he could help Neville stay alive along the way, all the better for everybody.
Harry heard the sounds of his father's gentle snores drifting down the hall towards him, and it brought him a fresh sense of peace as he began to drift to sleep.
Things would be different this time: he would have a family to rely on, a support system to get him through the dark moments. He would live his new life to its fullest, but he would not shirk his duty to help defeat the Dark Lord. Harry didn't need to be the one to deliver the killing blow, but he would be damned if he sat on the sidelines and waited for someone else to fight the war that was coming for him one way or another.
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